On a deserted beach at twilight in gwen stacy x miles morales, waves kiss her ankles as she peels off her sundress. Salt air hardens her nipples instantly. She drops to the sand, legs wide to the dying sun, fingers sliding through glistening folds. “Feel gwen stacy x miles morales with me,” she invites the ocean, moaning “gwen stacy x miles morales” with every rolling wave. She fucks herself slowly at first, then frantically, sand sticking to wet thighs while “gwen stacy x miles morales, gwen stacy x miles morales, deeper gwen stacy x miles morales” spills from her lips. The tide creeps closer; cold water laps at her ass just as she comes, squirting into the surf and screaming “gwen stacy x miles morales” loud enough for distant gulls to hear. She lies there afterward, tracing lazy “gwen stacy x miles morales” patterns in the wet sand between her legs.